


Serenity

by captainsarmband



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Borussia Dortmund, M/M, Nurmelle, everything is soft and nothing hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 19:37:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9840959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainsarmband/pseuds/captainsarmband
Summary: Schmelle figures that certain situations demand a rush of nerves and anxiety by default - like taking your driving test, watching a penalty shootout, or waking up in your best friend's bed after a night of making out. But then again it's Nuri. And Nuri has always had a way of making him feel at peace.





	

 

He awakes with a sigh and a feeling of peace and stillness in his chest that makes him smile against the rays of sunshine tickling his face.

He rubs his cheek against the pillow. The cloth is softer than that of freshly washed hotel room pillows and smells more familiar, but bears a too significant lack of dog scent to be his.

 

_He claws his fingers into the pillow in a flimsy attempt to regain control over his body. It doesn’t work. He arches into Nuri’s touch as he runs a hand over his stomach. He squirms against the mattress as Nuri bites at his neck. He is made of electrons and loose wires, currents rush through him in waves, bones wait to ignite with every touch._

_“Fuck, Schmelle, the noises you make,” Nuri says and Schmelle would feel self-conscious if not for the adoration in Nuri’s husky voice._

_“Hot showers after tough games had me moaning louder,” Schmelle manages to retort. “So don’t get cocky.” He opens his eyes to look at Nuri and swallows as he musters his bare chest, the red spots on his neck that he knows are beard-burns, the slightly swollen parted lips – and he involuntarily licks his own._

_Nuri’s glance drops down to his mouth and Schmelle feels his thigh twitch against his own. “Believe me,” Nuri says, words breathless enough to make Schmelle’s breath hitch. “I’ve heard.”_

_And the implication of that, the confirmation that he, too, has thought about this, has longed for this for so long, makes Schmelle reach up, pull Nuri down to him by his neck, and capture his mouth with a kiss that is only interrupted by gasps and moans and the soft whispers of each other’s names._

 

The house is quiet as Schmelle pads to the bathroom, in his arms the bundle of clothes that he picked up from the bedroom floor. He bites his lips when he catches sight of his reflection in the mirror. His hair is a mess, flopping into his face in strands (and he has to close his eyes for a moment with the phantom sensation of someone pulling on it), small bruises trace a path from his neck to his chest, and a soft blush paints his cheeks red.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself and decides to tackle the obscenity that is his appearance by brushing his teeth (of course he has a toothbrush at Nuri’s place. He has spent so many nights crashing on Nuri’s sofa when he was too lazy to drag himself home. It’s only practical) and taking a shower. He lets the spray of the water wash over him and waits for the inevitable rush of anxiety to kick in. The fear of losing his best friend because they went too far, the regret of saying things he couldn’t take back even if he wanted to, the crushing realisation of having crossed a line and ruining it all. He washes his hair with the shampoo for dyed blonde hair that magically appeared in Nuri’s shower at some point and lets the foam pool around his feet until he decides that the panic is probably waiting to overwhelm him later and he might as well get dressed before that.

He instinctively reaches for one of the towels on the left rack because Nuri washes those with a different detergent. He doesn’t like the scent, he says, but it’s the only one that doesn’t irritate Schmelle’s skin and one day Nuri informed him that he now had a personal pile of towels and that was that.

 

_“So that’s that,” Nuri says and turns off the TV. It’s the first words spoken since the final whistle, after watching their teammates sink to the muddy ground in defeat, and the two of them unable to even offer a consoling clap on the shoulder or a word of comfort._

_I wish I could have been there, Schmelle wants to say, I wish I could have helped. But he doesn’t say it, because he doesn’t have to. Because Nuri knows. Out of all the people, Nuri understands best._

_He thinks of the games they lost together, the way their eyes found each other and he saw his own disappointment and regret reflected in Nuri’s. He thinks of the games he lost alone, while Nuri was wearing white and then red and in a room full of people he was alone in his defeat._

_“Don’t ever leave again.” The words escape his lips as Nuri makes his way to the kitchen and he instantly knows that he can’t take them back._

_Nuri stops in his tracks and turns around, brows furrowed until his lips break into a smile. “Dude, I was just getting orange juice.”_

_Schmelle is grateful for the way Nuri offers him with a way out, but this time, he decides, he’s not looking for an exit. “You know what I mean.”_

_“I do.” Nuri nods slowly and walks back toward the sofa. Comes back to him, like he always does in the end. “And I won’t.”_

_It’s Schmelle’s turn to nod while he bites his lip in consideration. “Promise?” he asks and holds out his hand._

_“Promise.” Nuri smiles and shakes his hand._

_“Okay,” Schmelle says and allows a feeling of relief to wash over him._

_“Okay?”_

_“Yeah, okay.”_

_A moment passes before he realizes that neither of them has let go of the other’s hand. And so he pulls on Nuri’s, gently, experimentally, and almost instantly Nuri drops forward and braces his free hand against the back of the sofa, face only centimetres away from Schmelle’s. Their uneven breaths mingle in the air between them and Schmelle’s ears are ringing with silence._

_“Nuri,” he says through the lump in his throat that might as well be his beating heart._

_“Yeah?” Nuri’s voice is low and soft and Schmelle can feel the word on his face._

_“Your knee.” He gestures to where Nuri’s sharp bone is digging painfully into his thigh._

_“Oh shit, sorry!” Nuri scrambles to get up before Schmelle stops him and gently moves Nuri’s leg to the other side of his thigh. Nuri shifts, straddling Schmelle, and studies their still interlocked hands between them._

_It should feel weird. Too close, too intimate, to sudden. But Schmelle finds that it is long overdue and still too far apart._

_“Nuri?” he says and runs his thumb over the back of Nuri’s hand._

_“Jesus, what now?”_

_“I would really like to kiss you.”_

_“Oh,” Nuri blinks and an eternity of a moment passes before he says “I would like that, too.”_

_Schmelle leans forward and Nuri meets him halfway. Their lips brush against each other and Schmelle feels Nuri smile against his mouth. It’s all he needs to be bold enough to place a cautious peck to Nuri’s lips._

_He pulls back and studies Nuri’s face, a mixture of surprise and wonder, and somehow he knows that he sports the same expression._

_“Yeah,” Nuri nods slowly as if to answer an unvoiced question hanging between them and leans in again, pressing a gentle kiss to Schmelle’s lips that makes Schmelle’s heart beat faster._

_Schmelle kisses the corner of his mouth, his bottom lip, before touching it with the tip of his tongue. Nuri inhales sharply and suddenly his hand is at the back of Schmelle’s neck and his hips are pressing down and there is tongue and teeth and hands roaming over skin._

_“Hey,” Schmelle says in between kisses, hardly managing to catch his breath. “Are you still getting that orange juice or-?”_

_“You are a smug little shit, Marcel Schmelzer,” Nuri says and bites Schmelle’s bottom lip._

 

He finds Nuri on the terrace behind the house, leaning back on one chair, with his feet propped up on another. He is reading the paper while taking another bite from the slice of bread in his hand. He always eats the crust first, biting in a strategic circle before tackling the inner parts – a habit that became strangely endearing to Schmelle when Nuri’s older brother once met them for breakfast and executed the exact same tactic.

He allows himself to memorize the image before him. The relaxed shape of Nuri’s body, the soft sunlight illuminating his face as if it were part of it, the curve of his lips that he longs to see turn into a smile. He knows every millimetre of this face by heart, has watched the laughter lines draw themselves into the corners of his eyes, knows that the faint wrinkles on his forehead have become deeper during his months of injury. He can read his face so well that he’s almost surprised that he cannot read his mind.

Nuri looks up and a smile illuminates his features. “Morning,” he says, lifts his feet off the chair to make place for Schmelle and places the sports section of the paper on his side of the table.

“Morning,” Schmelle replies, but stays at his spot in the doorway. “You could have woken me up. Careful-“ he adds and gestures to a drop of jam threatening to drop off the bread.

Nuri sticks out his tongue to lick it clean before he turns his focus back to the newspaper. “I figured I’d give you the opportunity to run away.”

“Gallant,” Schmelle comments and shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “Do you want to?”

“Want what?”

“Run away.” Nuri shrugs, still not looking at him. “I live here.” He finishes the last bite of bread and wipes his hand on his pants.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Nuri worries at his upper lip, the way he always does when he knows what he wants to say but hasn’t quite figured out how to say it. “I wouldn’t even know where to.”

“What do you mean?”

“If I had to run from anything,” Nuri starts and finally lifts his head again to look at Schmelle. “I’d come straight to you.”

Schmelle opens his mouth to reply but suddenly his throat hurts and he has to swallow. So he nods. And hopes that’s enough.

“Are you staying for breakfast?” Nuri asks and the trace of hope and uncertainty in his voice makes him sound so vulnerable that Schmelle decides to never let anything harm him.

“I can’t,” Schmelle says and before Nuri’s smile can vanish, he hastily adds, “I have to take the dogs for a walk. You could come if you want.”

Nuri grimaces and wrinkles his nose. “Nice try.”

“I do what I can.” Schmelle finally leaves his spot, walks over to Nuri and after a split second of hesitation he leans down and places a kiss into his hair. “You could come over later,” he says quietly and slowly tears himself away from the scent of Nuri’s shampoo.

Nuri’s eyes flutter open and his hand reaches up to cup Schmelle’s cheek. “I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” Schmelle says and when he leans down to kiss Nuri’s lips, they taste like strawberry jam and home.

 


End file.
